My Name Starts with S but It's Not Stuart
by A.R.C. of Awesomeness
Summary: Hi there. I guess you know who I am, Stuart "2D" Pot. It's been a while since anything has come out and, before the new album comes out, I want to be honest with you all for once in my miserable life. This is a secret that has both destroyed and made my life. My real name is Stevania, Stevie for short, and I'm not really a . . . boy. (First fanfic. Fem!2D's life before Phase 1)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, so I am currently editing the currently published chapters so that my story can suck a bit less. Hopefully I will be able to finishing up the editing quickly, and maybe I can attract more people to this story. I was extremely nervous when I published the first chapter as this was the very first piece of fanfiction I'd ever written before and not just played in my head. The only thing that caused me to want to continue writing this story was the few of you who actually took the time to read this chapter, the first person whom started following this story, Key-Mantrea, and the one guest who left a review. Now that less people have decided to read this story I've decided to just start editing and enjoying this story for myself. At this point I don't really care if not many people read, but I hope you do enjoy the newly edited version.**

 **Jamie Christopher Hewlett and Damon Albarn own Gorillaz. I have no ownership of the band, their songs, and their story whatsoever and only own what I have made up for the story including OCs.**

I'm not really sure when it was I, Stevania "Stevie" Pot first created, "Stuart". From what I can recall reading through that chicken scratch in a ratty, old, glitter, bright, pink book that was my diary, I think it might have occurred the day I first got high on my meds that I had to take because of bad headaches I got a lot. Think I was four or five when that happened. Even when I was little I'd been a bit of an addict. If I remember correctly, I think that I wanted to go to the park and I was a little skittish when I was little and I was scared I'd get a bad headache. I didn't bother reading what was on the label, probably because I was too young to bother with the patience for reading and I wouldn't have understood what it said anyways. I didn't feel like having the shite babysitter my parents left me with read it to me either- not that she would have even noticed me taking them either. She was always chin-wagging on the phone all the bloody time, barely saw me almost burn my hand one time, little scrubber. Anyways the headache came and I just started popping pills. Didn't even bother me that I had only a little bit of water since I was used to taking them dry.

So apparently I came across a couple of boys playing on the monkey bars and I was so high I couldn't even say my pet name right, so instead of "Stevie", I ended up saying a really slurred, "Stuart". The boys thought I was daft, which would explain the slurring -even though I'm embarrassed to say I knew since I was little I was slower than the other kids my age- and they thought I was a boy too since I was a tomboy back then and wore a lot of dirty overalls, and scuffed up sneakers, and wrinkled T-shirts, and even before I got the blue hair, back when it was still black, it was really short and messy, and had this one huge side fringe that covered my left eye. Anyways, the kids let me in their group and I was too high to notice that they were calling me "Stu" or "Stuart". All I focused on was how exhilarating it felt playing these "boyish" games while on my meds. It was a hundred times better than when I had to play dolls with the other girls in their dumb stockings, and frilly skirts, and dresses, always worrying if they got dirty because they didn't want their mothers. Somehow while I was in that moment I started thinking, "If this was what being a boy was like, I never want to stop being one." I guess I realized that even after my high ended. I had friends who knew me by a different name, as a different person, and I didn't want to give that up.

I think after that I just started thinking, "What was so great about being a girl anyways?" Always having to behave and not cuss wasn't fun. My family was in a decent situation, we lived in an all right neighborhood, but it was unfair seeing how different my parents' states were. At the hospital I used to see my mother working for around eight hours a day for a few pence while my father worked five, left the other workers to their jobs, and got a whole bundle of shillings. The fact that there already weren't that many jobs for my sex didn't exactly help either when my mom told me of how she wanted to be a doctor but she couldn't get training because she was a women. The fact that I was slow didn't help either, and neither that I was pretty cheeky back then.

It took a lot of begging, but I convinced my parents to put my sex as male when they put me in primary school. I got a lot of really strange looks and I guess they got so worried about what was going on that they couldn't understand that they just decided to send me to some bastard doctor working at the hospital my mother worked in.

"I'm sure it's merely a phase, Rachel," the doctor said. "It's probably just Stevania dealing with the stress of being in a place where she won't be like the other kids and she won't have any friends. I'm sure it will pass in due time. Just give her some time and she'll come to."

Merely a phase, my arse! I hadn't let anyone known since I entered St. Wilfred's. To put it lightly, it wasn't exactly like those pictures of LaGuardia Arts you see when you search through Google, like the type of school you'd think I'd go to.. Every time I walked in I was sure I was colorblind because the hallways were just an endless mass of blacks, greys, and whites. The only time I saw colors was from the uniform and from whatever it was we had to bring to school. It was fine though and I was o.k. with what she got: the food was complete shite, the teachers seemed a bunch a wankers, the boys were too stupid to realize my voice was too high pitched, and the birds were too dull to realize my "pretty boy" looks came from the fact that I wasn't a bloke.

I thought my life was perfect at that point and that there was nothing in this world I liked more that I could have liked more than being "Stuart", or that I couldn't have liked being "Stuart" anymore than I already did. The birds were all nice to me because of how cute I was and how nice I was to them, and the boys thought I was really cool, and my grades were doing much better than I ever thought they would. "Stuart" was one of the most popular boys in school, and I couldn't be any happier with the way things were. The only thing that could have made that point of my life better than it already was, was if I could get off my meds. My headaches had become less frequent back then, and the meds had just started becoming a nuisance because they made me woozy and it was harder to concentrate on things.

If my younger self could go into the future and see all the things that I've seen and done so far , I'd imagine her saying, "Life could certainly be a big biggie." Without a doubt in my mind this is definitely what she'd say if she saw me now

 **O.K. this is the edited chapter one and those of you reading it, I hope you enjoyed it. If you liked this chapter come back to read the edited chapter 2 and tell me what you think of that chapter as well. Please review for this chapter if you'd like to, and I hope you have a "Feel Good Inc." day. I know, terrible pun. Hasta la pasta~!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, those of you bothering to read this story. To the few bothering to read this author's note, I am A.R.C. (of Awesomeness) and this is my first story which right now I am currently editing. I'm happy to start my fanfiction journey with Gorillaz as I knew of this band around the time they were doing their Escape to Plastic Beach tour. Me being a child only surrounded by annoying pop, rap, and Spanish music, found the band interesting, but hadn't gotten very into them, as I never knew their songs titles or the band's name. It wasn't until while watching WatchMojo's "Top Ten Gorillaz Songs" that I decided to listen to their music again. I couldn't get enough of them and watched all the music videos, G-bites, interviews, and live performances. I even listened to the** _ **Rise of the Ogre**_ **audiotape.**

 **I'm happy to start my fanfiction experience with you fans. Gorillaz quickly became one of my favorite bands, and I adore everything about the characters this band is made up of from Murdoc's perverted, fame, and fortune geared mind to young Noodle as she became the groups ray of sunshine. I understand the fanfiction community for this is a bit small, but I hope whoever is willing to read this will give their comments of how I can improve my writing, whether I'm not sticking enough to material, or anything of the sort.**

 **If anyone has problems understanding conversations, I'm trying to keep as much to the dialects as possible. 2D has a Cockney accent, which is strange as there's a region between London (where Cockney accents are heard), and Crawley. However, it seems that in southeast England there is an accent called Estuary English, which sounds extremely similar to Cockney. However, I will write most of the people Stevie speaks to with Cockney accents, as it requires less research, and I've heard Cockney accents. If some are confused why there are certain phrases Stevie and her mother use, it is because I've given them "true" Cockney accents, which involve the "Cockney rhyming slang", in which two or more words are used to describe or replace one word which that phrase rhymes with. I've not given her father one, as it wouldn't make sense how he was raised in London and gained a fairground in Crawley. Thank you the 1% of you who read this entire author's note from beginning to end.**

 **Now to begin: Gorillaz does not belong to me. All characters and songs belong to creators, Jamie Christopher Hewlett and Damon Albarn. The only person technically belonging to me is Stevie and any character I create.**

Chapter 1- Hello, My Name is St **-** . . .

As I started growing up I just got used to being Stuart almost all the time. I think I even got comfortable with it faster than most people would assume I would have, even me. Truthfully, because of how much of a tomboy I was back then there didn't seem much of a difference between being Stevie and being Stuart - well besides the obvious difference in gears of course. We listened to the same music, we had the same interests and hobbies, we played with the same toys, we liked the same instruments. The only real difference was whom the two of us would talk to. Stuart had a whole slew people to talk to: he had friends, his teachers, his classmates, kids in the upper and lower grades that liked talking to him. Stevie on the other hand . . . I didn't really give Stevie many chances to talk to a lot of people besides my parents, my family, and my doctors. That second one doesn't even count since my mom used to force me to talk with them at parties unless I just decided to come to play with my cousins who didn't really understand the situation. I guess I was just going through so many lengths to make sure Stuart's life was practically perfect I just kept pushing aside Stevie's life. Her was so incredibly dull but Stuart's made up for it all I thought.

To put it simply, this was what Stuart's life basically was:

"'ey, Stu-Pot, yew wan' ter go see a film tonigh'?"

"Stuar', we're gonna go ter the park, latah. Are yew comin'?"

"We just 'eard dis new band. Ya've got ter listen ter 'em!"

"Are you comin' ter tha' par'y goin' on this week?"

This was Stevie's:

"Alwigh' Ms- er, Mr. Pot. It looks loike you'll be able ter take a smaller amount his week. Yewr progress 'as increased and it looks loike ya might not 'ave ter take these pills again if this continues."

"Sweetie, could yew take out the laundry? I'm makin' loop the loop right now."

"I advise yew ter take deese pills from now on. Since the uvver pills 'ave been ter strong, deese should 'elp wiv yaaahr 'eadaches but not give yew any dizzy awer sickly feelin' after."

"'onestly, Rachel, why 'asn'' tha' girl ov yaaahrs go''en through wiv dis ye'? I thought da doctor said dis was just a phase."

That last one happened when I was around seven, I think. A friend of my mom had invited us to her son's seventh birthday. I showed up in some of my more boyish clothes, and told my mother they were more comfortable, and I didn't want to ruin my nicer clothes if I was gonna end up playing with the other kids. It wasn't even that boyish now that I remember! There were pictures taken and I was in this bright blue blazer, a white shirt, black slacks and shoes. It wasn't bad. Everyone thought I was a boy, which I didn't see the problem with. I guess the kid's tosser of a mother remembered my mother, Rachel, only had one kid who a girl going through a "phase". I caught that bit of what the bitch had said when I went to use the bathroom and I saw my mom being pulled inside by the mother.

I had had a lot of words to say about that woman. Many, many words did I have to say! Like a polite young "gentleman" though - something the resident pickle-man around here should learn how to be- I didn't say anything though I wanted to use her face as a dartboard. Thankfully my mom was willing to say a few words to her, and my dad drove us back home after we stayed long enough to sing and eat a piece of cake.

"Stevie, Stuart, whomever ya decide ter be at this moment and beyond, you're always me child. I won't throw ya away simply 'cause ya don't decide ter be loike ovver people of the bloomin' Posh 'n' Becks ya were born as." That was what my mother said as soon as we got home. She had a tear hanging on to the edge of her eyelash. I appreciated what her mother said but I didn't completely understand what she meant. Stuart was me. It was a side of me showed to people who weren't close to me, but it was still me. I couldn't even tell when I was just being myself or when I was being Stuart because they were both me and I barely felt any shift.

Puberty made it a bit easier, while also making my life a lot shittier.

My mom made me take down the exact date and time I ended up getting it. It was on a Sunday morning just a few months after the part that **it** finally came. I was having a lot of stomachaches for the past week. I even ended up having to skip lunch, give up recess, and playing with Stuart's friends after school! I used to eat a lot for my age back then. Anything that tasted good to me I would eat. Somehow I managed to stop myself from eating any foods that make my stomachaches worse. The pains still wouldn't go away though, and they just kept getting worse and worse every day that week.

So, you would assume that the most logical thing for me to do after waking up feeling like my body was being torn apart from the inside and a puddle of blood on my bed sheets, blanket, and my pants' crotch? Scream bloody murder of course! My parents ran inside my bedroom as though hell was on their heels, and I couldn't stop screaming for another few minutes when my father started screaming and waving a bat around.

I managed to say a few words explaining what happened, "Blood . . . stomach . . . 'urt . . . bad," and my father's, David, worried face quickly fell and he looked at my mother. "Sorry love, but you're the bleedin' nurse. This is your jurisdiction. I'll be in bed if you need me." As soon as he'd said that he stumbled back into bed. It did make him seem a bit of a bastard, but he'd only gotten back from work just a couple of hours ago, and I was in too much pain to bother being offended.

After that, my mother went on to explain the "delightful joys" of womanhood and the new "friends" that would be joining me. Apparently I was going to be having something called a menstrual cycle. Since I was young it apparently would only occur every few months and last for a few days. I quickly learned at about age eleven or twelve it gradually increases to the point where I would bleed for about a week or so every month. Just that was terrifying enough for me to hear. Hearing about the cramping and bloating I would face just made the entire thing worse. I was about ready to faint after that, and trying to go to the loo and wash myself of the blood was making me feel like I was about to die from how painful it was. Any young woman who is reading this and recently started menstruating or any woman who remembers when it began will know I'm not exaggerating.

It wasn't until I was clean, wearing a pad, and on my bed with elevated feet, a heating pad on my stomach, a large glass of water on my bedside table, and eating a bar of bitter dark chocolate that I realized what was going on. My body was changing. It was starting to become more and more like a woman's, like my mother's. I didn't want that though. What would happen if I was playing with my mates and it just decided to appear? It wasn't just something I could wave off, the blooming thing hurt like hell. If my body was developing, did this mean that I was gonna end up getting a chest like my mother's? While I will admit that my mom has a rocking pair of tits, I prefer seeing other woman with that rather than having one myself as I'm sure you understand already knowing of my past relationships. Either way, I just couldn't deal with that crap! Bleeding from down there was one thing. Having to deal with two globes of fat on my chest that jiggled and bounced every time I moved was another.

I just moaned and groaned in pain and frustration at this. How could I possibly deal with this at the moment when it felt like my stomach had a hundred- no scratch that out, a thousand different things trying to hurt me from the inside and all I wanted to do was cut myself open to get rid of the bad stuff inside. I hated this. It was even worse that as Stuart I'd have to pretend that he didn't have to deal with blood painfully coming out of his should-be-nonexistent fanny. What was I even going to do when I got back to school? All of my teachers knew me as Stuart. It wasn't as though I could just pull them to side, tell them I was actually a girl, had been hiding my sex years, and ask them if I could leave the class when I had to because I just got my period.

The next few days resulted in an awkward amount of breaks in the middle of class to use the loo, skipping out on physical education, sitting out during recess, and refusing Stuart's friends insistence for him to go out and play. All throughout those days I felt like crying my eyes out from how painful the experience was of trying not to scream bloody murder while I wished I could just transform my body at will so I could have a Peter instead of a fanny. How was I going to continue being like this? I started taking almost three times the amount of pills I usually had everyday to lessen the pain but they didn't seem to be doing anything. All that I wanted to do was curl into a ball and mope.

All I needed was something to keep my mind off of this. Just something that would get rid of at least a few of my problems or at the very least cause me less stress. It wasn't even like I could just to anybody about what was going on or how I felt. Sure my parents tried to understand but I knew they couldn't. All they could do was except this was just how I was. I couldn't even find any books or guides for this damned situation.

It had been a week since my menstrual had passed. I was still moping around and lying in my bed after school. Stuart's mates had asked to play with him and I did show up sometimes, but more often than not I didn't. I'd just sit in bed watching whatever it was I could find, and oddly I found myself watching a whole bunch of zombie movies since my TV was busted for some reason and the only channel that would play was a horror channel. The fake blood on the black and white movie strangely didn't bother me and neither did the organs. That day was pretty much the day that I ended falling in love with zombie movies.

"Love, come daahhn the stairs. I've go' summit for ya. I fink you'll loike it a lot."

I poked my head out of my bedroom door, and wondered what my father was calling me down for. I shuffled down the stairs in sock-clad feet, trying to make sure my lanky legs and arms wouldn't get out of control and cause me to trip up and fall. Even back when I was young I grew unnaturally tall for my age at 4 foot six and a half inches at the age of eight, already making me more of an eyesore and causing some of the things I easily did before to be impossible like hanging from the monkey bars.

Reaching the main, room I started rubbing one of my dry eyes. "What'd ya get, Poppa? Please don'' tell me it's anovver . . ." My sentence trailed off at the sight of the object in my father's hand which he proudly showed.

"Isn'' i' amazin'! I go' i' on sale for a lil' over forty quid." Thrusting it up to my face, the strange keyboard-like contraption gleamed brightly, seeming to have been polished earlier with shining small white and black keys held together with a black frame. On one end of the object was a small hole. "It's a melodica. You blo' aahht from this end usin' this mouthpiece," he paused to fish out a small see-through bag from his pocket, which held a small plastic reed-like object. "Just stick this in the hole and ya blo' through it. It works a lil' loike a piano since ya go''a learn 'ow ter play deese keys, but it's actually more loike a reed 'cause each key ya opens a hole 'n' a diffen' sound comes aahht of each one."

I gingerly took the instrument in my large palms. I carefully turned the melodica to looking at the craftsmanship. Up close I could see it wasn't in absolutely perfect condition. There were a few scuffs and scratches lining the sides and back of the glossy black surface, and the leather strap where I assumed I held the instrument was a bit frayed, but it was still in rather good condition.

"Thank you," I choked out, still shocked at the gift. I had been into a lot of different music but I wasn't sure if I'd ever heard a melodica. I thought maybe if I heard what noise it made I'd know. I carefully inserted the reed until she put it in correctly. Placing my palm between the strap and the instrument, I held it so the keys faced me, and tried to remember what it was I remembered in music.

" _If this is a loike a Joanna, then that Brenda Lee should start at C, wite?"_ I thought. Turning my hand, I held the instrument so my palm was on the keys and were hopefully on the same keys the teacher taught us to play a simple piano tune on, and the reed was facing me. _"Here goes nothing."_

 _Woo-wooo woo-wooo woo-woo wooo, woo-woo woo-woo woo-woo wooo._

The sound was a bit odd, and I could barely recognize it was "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star" I was playing. It was somewhat like listening to a harmonica, but there was a slight an edge to it. It was strange . . . but I liked it a lot. I think that was probably why I resonated so much with this particular instrument as it fit my personality nicely. It was an oddity that wasn't often recognized, but it was truly unique with its strangely familiar bloopy-like noise.

"That was amazin, 'un. I guess ya just 'ave a natural talent."

"If ya want me ter I could score a Jackday and Rook that could teach ya 'ow ter play this. Do ya wanna clock if any classes 're available?" my mother said.

A bright smile lit up my face. "I fink I'd loike that a Hoppin' Pot!

 **Loop the loop – Soup**

 **Posh 'n' Becks – Sex (Gender)**

 **Clock – See or regard an object (This one isn't a Cockney Rhyme)**

 **Hoppin' Pot – (a) lot**

 **If anyone bothers to read this story, I hope that you will give me a review. Tell me what I should improve and I will happily take into consideration what you've stated. This is as I said before my first fanfic, so I will be happy to except all reviews as long as they are not too flammable. Also to notify anyone who wants to continue reading this story, I am editing all the chapters I have posted so far and I will hopefully finish posting the next edited chapter in another two or three days.**


	3. Chapter 3

**For those of you who are reading this and might be wondering how long it will take to get through Stevie's childhood, I myself am not to sure. In the last chapter I'd made her eight and in the prologue she started out as around four to five and then reached around six or seven by the end. I suppose it will probably take maybe another four or five chapters or so. I guess this all depends on how far into her life as Stuart after the accident I want to go into, along with her struggling with wanting to keep her personality as Stevie but feeling like Stuart's life is taking over her life. Anyways on with the story I suppose.**

 **Gorillaz does not belong to me or any other person writing Gorillaz fanfiction. Gorillsaz belongs to co-creators Jamie Christopher Hewlett and Damon Albarn. The characters technically belonging to me are Stevie and any OC I decide to add into this story.**

Chapter 2-Who Knew They'd Do It?

Even after I'd gotten my harmonica, I hadn't really been that into music yet. What really got me into music was this one day me and a friend of mine's decided to do something really stupid while at a music recital a few months after I'd gotten my melodica. The day he asked me to the recital basically went like this.

"'-ot? Stuart Pot, Stuart Pot? Is 'e not in to- !"

"Wha'?" I said quickly, my head snapping up. I'd been in a daze thinking of tune to play on my melodica. I was so close to finally getting it just right, and my eyes were glazed over while I stared downcast at my desk, a pencil in my hand going along with the beat that had been playing in my head. I'd know almost completely forgotten the rhythm thanks to my twat of a teacher.

"If yer gon' ter sleep durin' 'omeroom, I suggest yew go back ter kindergarten. I'm sure yew know da way ter Mrs. Andrews' class, righ'?" Mr. Hale said snappishly. A sneer covered his face as his cold dark eyes stared at me. The man always liked making his students piss themselves for some reason.

"Yes Mr. Hale," I replied, rolling my eyes as he looked away to check Stuart's name off the attendance list.

"Na for me sanity's sake, try not ter make me go crazy two weeks before winter break. Lord knows I need a break from awl of ya for more than a couple of weeks. Na is Gwendolyn Patterson 'ere?"

"Present."

Being the troublemaker I was back then I looked to make sure the teacher was facing away from me before flicking my wrist out, palm facing inward, and making a "V" with my middle and pointer fingers: that's basically the English version of a middle finger for all you Americans reading. I quickly put my hand down as Mr. Hale turned around, most likely to see what was the cause of the snickering that had occurred from my movement.

"Will someone tell me wot was the joke that I missed?" He quickly scanned the room, eyes carefully looking at the class. I felt his eyes had lingered on me a bit longer than the others, as if daring me to say something. I probably would have but saw the look one of my friend's was throwing at me. "Let's continue on then."

"Can't ya ever take a break from doin' that Stuart?" Brandon, or Bran as he preferred, said, sighing as we walked to our next classes. "You're pro'lly becomin' the reason for why teachers need those 'eadache pills na."

A mix of a laugh and a snort came from me at this. If this were me right now it'd be a mix between a cough, a laugh, and a chocking sound thanks to Murdoc and I's constant smoking and boozing sessions while we still lived in Kong. "Wouldn't that be a funny fin' ter fin' abaht though? The Saucepan Lid 'oo needs meds is the reason for why the teachers need them too."

Bran just looked back at me with confused brown eyes. "A "Saucepan Lid"?"

"It's 'ow me mum 'n' I say kid."

The boy quickly shook his head, his matching brown mop whipping around his head. "Anyways, I fin' ya should be careful. You've acted weird since we started this year and you're more focused on daydreamin' than anythin' else."

"Oh, stop bein' such a nag. You sound loike me mum when I climb the really 'igh trees aht the park."

"I'm not a nag ya blo''y bastard!" Bran yelped, punching me in the arm, though since I was taller than him by more than a few inches he ended up hitting a little above my elbow. A strange apelike sound emitted from me when the impact was made. I rubbed my arm through the thick winter blazer, already knowing a bruise would soon form, leaving a bright purple mark on my pale skinny limbs.

"Alrigh', alrigh', I'm sorry. No need ter be so sensitive," she held her hands up in defense at the glare Bran was giving her. "Don't blame me for tellin' the bleedin' truf."

An eye roll seemed the most appropriate response for me to receive. We continued walking to class in silence for a few more minutes.

"Oh, I forgot ter tell ya!" Bran said suddenly. I rubbed my tired eyelids before looking at him through lazy, blue, fringe covered eyes. "My cousin is 'avin 'is music recital this Saturday. My mum asked me to invite you since she knows I know ya loike that bloomin' melodica o' yours, and ya said it didn' seem awl tha' diffen' from a piano. We jus' though' ya migh' loike ter come if ya wanted."

You might have thought I'd gone to at least a few recitals before but in truth, this was my very first one. _"A recital?"_ the younger me thought. _"I've always wanted ter Scapa ter one of them."_ This Saturday? Ha long is it?"

"A while. Even though there's a lo' o' kids they start at 'round ffree in the afternoon and i' ends a' 'round six I fin'. Do ya fin' ya can come?"

" _From three ter Tom six this Saturday?"_ I thought. _"I don't recall 'avin anyhtin' planned then."_ "Yeah, I fin' I can make it."

"Alrigh' then. By the way you're goin' ter 'ave ter wear summit nice. It's a really fancy school where 'e takes 'is lessons, so awl the family members 'ave gotta dress up."

"I guess I'll clock ya there then. I'll 'ave me mum take me ter you gaff and then we'll Scapa Flow ter the recital from there."

"Alrigh', clock ya after science," Brandon said, quickly ducking into the herd of other children heading in the direction he was going.

"Alright," I said, jogging through the halls so I'd make it to my math lesson. During class I hadn't done much. The teacher hadn't called on me so I started doodling in my notebooks. No one but me knew what the figures I drew were though.

A few weeks ago, I'd learned out how to draw people with few details. Princesses, princes, and other nobles were my favorite things to draw, especially women. No one would guess at first glance that a triangle with a circle above it was a girl. A semicircle, preferably small, drawn around the head made for hair. I would have loved to give the figure big watery blue eyes and flowing, flaming, long locks of red, as well as color her dress in glittery purple and add small silver designs.

It simply wasn't what boys do though. It wasn't what Stuart did.

The ringing of the bell quickly caught my attention. The image of the princess was washed away from my mind as I proceeded to pack her books though.

"Um, sorry ter bovver ya, Stuart, but what's that?" I heard. I turned my head to the side, finding a girl who looked almost exactly like the princess I'd imagined, a heart shaped face, large sky blue eyes, fiery red hair, and a white bow tying back her hair, better revealing her pale skin. I was in a momentary shock at how pretty the girl was before quickly shaking my head. "Wha?"

The girl's eyes went downcast a few moments before meeting mine for a split second, pointing a small pale hand to Stuart's notebook, the page still left open to the princess I drew. "That fin' that ya drew on your notebook, I was wonderin' wot it is."

I hesitated before answering. "It was just sumfin' I 'ad in me Chinese blind for a few seconds, that's awl. I'm not ter Bobby wot it is either."

The girl arched a slim eyebrow in confusion.

"I mean I was . . .." I paused to try to explain it without my rhyming accidently coming out. "I just thought of it for a bit, but I don't kna wot it is either."

"Oh." The girl looked disappointed, a small frown working its way to her lips.

"Sorry if yews was looki' for a differen' ansa," I said sheepishly.

"No it's fine. What yew drew reminded me a lil' of this Keif 'arin' fellow from New York City I'd 'eard abaht. I was wonderin' if ya 'ad 'eard or seen 'is work before was all."

I chuckled for a moment, a palm reaching up and scratching the back of my head, slowly going to my neck to wipe away any sweat that appeared. "Keif Harin'? I don't fin' I've 'eard o' 'im."

The girl shrugged, her large curls bouncing slightly. "I guess I should 'ave knahn, I don't kna many ovver's bu' me family interested in this. If yew don't mind me sayin' though, it looks a lil' loike a girl." She giggled a bit at the end.

My face felt hot with embarrassment, and I snatched up my book, quickly glancing at the princess once more before shoving it into my bag, making sure to forcibly chuckle-not giggle because girls giggled- before saying, "I guess yewr righ'. It does butcher's a lil' loike a twist 'n' twirl."

I'd rushed out of the classroom so fast I hadn't even bothered to acknowledge the girl's confused expression at my words before leaving.

"Wha' d'ya mean I can't Scapa Flow ter the bloomin' recital?" I screeched in my high-pitched warbled voice. I'd just told her mother about the recital.

"I'm sorry, luv, but it's your grandmother's birthday this Saturday and I already told 'er we'd 'ave a meal together at 'round Dorothy Lamour," Rachel, my mother, stated calmly, not bothering to look at me with tired eyes as she washed our dirtied dishes from the recently finished dinner.

"Can't I just Scapa Flow ter the recital for twenny minutes and ya can 'ave Dad pick me up after that? I wanna clock a few performances at least!" I stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunks. Hearing my younger self now I really do realize how bratty I sounded back then. Nowadays I wouldn't put anything above seeing my family members.

"Sorry," David said, sitting down as he let his food settle, a pleather belt loose around his waist "but the restaurant is almost' an 'our long car ride from 'ere 'lone. Can't ya jus' tell your friend that ya 'ave sumfin' else ter do tha' day?"

"But I already promised 'im I'd come!" I yelled, stamping my foot as my face blushed from frustration. I suppose between what might have been a stressful day at the hospital coupled with having to come home to a screeching complaining child threw my mother over the edge. My father and I jumped as the loud clatter of plastic plates filled the air alongside the violent twist of a handle, rushing water no longer heard.

My now pale face to look at my mother, whose face was a bright fire engine red and looked like one of those cartoons or animes Noodle watches where furious characters would have steam coming out of their ears as a steam train engine sounded in the background.

"Stevania Stuart Pot ya be quite this instant! I don' wanna 'ear anovver Dicky Bird ahht o' ya abaht this mattah! Tomorra ya will tell Brandon tha' ya can't Scappa Flow ter the bleedin' recital and I don' wanna 'ear any complainin' after that! We 'ardly ever clock your grandmovver and she's lookin' forward ter seein' 'er only ovver grandchild so I don' wanna 'ear any lip or attitude from ya!" By the time my mother was done screaming, her face could have rivaled a blueberry with how little air she'd breathed in because of all hear yelling, though I didn't dare laugh with her icy blue eyes still looking at me. The words had rushed out of my mother's mouth so quickly that I had barely caught any of it, especially with my mother's almost too thick to understand accent, but I'd certainly gotten the gist of it.

"Do ya understand?" my mother snarled out, more than likely trying to keep herself from doing any physical harm to her only child. I quickly nodded my head up and down like a bobble-head. "Na take a barth, brush your Heampstead heaf, and bonny, and then scapa fla straight to Uncle Ned." Though I was upset I quickly complied, scrambling up the stairs.

Reaching the bathroom, I furiously slammed the door closed, a "WHAM" loudly sounding that my parents likely heard. The same aggression was given to the lock on the door along with the handles in the bathtub. Steam quickly surrounded the bathtub and the mirror above the vanity was covered with fog.

"Damned morons," I hissed while undressing. "So wot if it's the chuffin old 'ag's birthday? I barely clock 'er so she shouldn't remember me, even if I am 'er grandkid." The younger me proceeded to look for a comb before practically jumping into the boiling water. "BLOODY BARRY WHITE!" I practically leaped out of the tub, falling on my back as my wet feet slipped against the tile floors. "Flippedy!"

"WOT 'RE YA DOIN' UP THERE?"

"NOTHIN', I JUST SLIPPED!" I yelled back, my current distaste for my mother dripping from my voice. "Blimey floors," I huffed, slowly lowering my body inch by inch into the tub.

What was I going to do now? My mother looked like she was going to beat the living daylights out of me. I didn't want to disappoint Bran though. He'd so far been the closest mate I'd had - at the time - and I didn't want to blow this off. This was the first live musical performance I'd ever see besides the street performances. Could I really risk getting both my parents angry with me though? Would they even be so angry that they forced me to be Stevie fulltime? There were some perks to that: I didn't have to worry about binding my chest, if it ever did grow, later on in life. I wouldn't have to worry above giving excuses of why I couldn't go out at times because of how painful my cramps were. Those were extremely embarrassing moments I never wanted to relive.

Still though, being Stuart was so much better! I was treated like she wanted to be treated no matter whom I was with, besides my parents of course, not as though I were some fragile doll that would easily be broken. There were lesser expectations on how to dress also, which was rather nice. I saw how many women deserved jobs that were taken by less qualified men who got paid more than they did. What did I have worry about as Stuart that Stevie wouldn't go through along with her other problems? If I had any girlish desires than I could surely just claim it as curiosity.

I dunked my head under the water. Now that I think of all the things that made me want to continue being Stuart as a child, I'm happy with my choices. Even if Murdoc is an old tosser he was one of my closest friends, and though Russell hasn't really been that close to me he's been there to get me through all the cruel things Murdoc did. The best thing to come out of continuing to be Stuart though has been Noodle. I loved her simply as a sister at first but she became more like a daughter to me, and she probably understood me the best out of the three of them. I'm getting of track now, anyways back to what I was saying before.

All this thinking was giving me a headache, although the heat was only helping slightly as I began to feel rather dizzy. _Wot I wouldn't give ter 'ave a Jack and Jill ri' abah' na._ I hung my head down and noticed how, now wet, the longest pieces of my hair nearly touched the cooling water that reached my shoulders. _I need ter get this cut soon. Maybe I could get it colored. Black seems a bit dull. Red? That redheaded girl 'as blue mince pies, it looks pretty on 'er, just like that princess._ Quickly lathering my hair with soap, I grabbed the nearby comb and started going through my short locks.

Suddenly my eyes widened as I thought back to what my eight-year-old mind had thought at the time thought. A smile slowly worked itself across my face. I continued on merrily with my bath, trying to remember the tune I played in my head earlier that day.

My parents had noticed things over the last few days of that week. They noticed small things, such as my father somehow losing a bit of money from his wallet everyday, although not enough to make a fuss, claiming to likely having miscounted. He also found it a bit odd that I came home later than usual many times but waved it off as me playing outside too long before coming home. My mother noticed that my room was looking a bit too straightened out and that she hadn't said to clean the room, but took that to mean I was beginning to mature. My father started pointing out that many of the pages in his newspaper had gone missing as well.

On Saturday my mother was to be gone for around two hours getting her hair styled for the dinner that night. My father would be meeting with some people who were going to fix a problem with some pipes at the fairground. It would give me just enough time to put my plan in motion. It'd only take her an hour or so minutes to fix her hair, a few seconds for a bit of my mother's makeup to be applied thanks to watching her mother apply it in the morning for the last few days, ten minutes to dress up, and maybe twenty minutes to walk myself to Brandon's house. My younger self thought she already had a very convincing tale in mind, so I'd be fine.

Once my father had left the door after ruffling my hair -"Don't do anythin' bad while we're gone,"- I counted the seconds after he'd left the door, _One, two, three, four, five . . .._ I'd meant to do this up until I counted up to five minutes but barely made it to two before anxiety kicked in and I rushed to my bedroom. Rummaging beneath my clean and straightened bed, I felt between my bed's planks, squealing in happiness, and pulling out a box with the image of a pretty fair skinned woman with locks of bright red almost orange curls. I bounded over to my dresser, shoving all of my clothes away until I found a t-shirt that looked, and smelled, as though it hadn't been washed in some time. I quickly put it on and dived for my bed again, opening a pillowcase to reveal the newspapers I stuffed inside. Running down the stairs, newspapers and dye in hand, I proceeded for the kitchen, getting a nearby stepping stool and reaching for the cabinet to grab a pair of gloves. Almost having tripped over my long legs getting down, I dashed upstairs for the bathroom. 

I did a mental checklist before she went any further. _Shirt, dye, comb, check. Gloves, shampoo, newspapers, towels . . .. All right then, it looks like everything's here._ I put on the gloves before reaching for a bowl and brush, stirring the solution of ingredients and dye in the bowl with the brush. I then placed the newspapers along the floor, reached for my comb, and combed through my hair again. Grabbing the brush hesitantly, I took a breath and looked at my reflection in the mirror. Deciding to just get it over with I shut my eyes, grabbed a piece of hair, and jabbed the brush into my hair. I squealed at the contact but continued the process, feeling a bit guilty the more I continued.

It had taken little more than an hour for the entire process to finish, but the results had turned out surprisingly well. It had taken a bit longer to reach Bran's house than she'd thought it would with the clothing she'd worn in this weather but it was well worth it seeing the surprise on Bran's mother's face to see a curly-haired ginger girl, with blue eyes in a purple dress with a white coat, hat, and gloves that looked very much like the brunette boy she'd been expecting.

"Um, may I 'elp yaw if summit dear?" she asked, her gold necklace and earrings glinting in the afternoon sun of the winter.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I thought Stuart 'ad warned 'is China plate abaht this." She looked down as though she were shy. "I'm Stuart's cousin Stevania, but me friends call me Stevie. Stuart started comin' dahn wif the flu and 'e knows I loike goin' ter clock live performances, so 'e asked me if I wanted ter scapa flow in 'is place. 'e said 'e'd tell 'is China plate yesterday. I'm sorry abaht this." For extra measure she started to fiddle with the lace trimming at the hem of her dress and shuffled her feet nervously.

It took Bran's mother a moment to decipher what she'd said but the woman then ushered me inside saying how pretty I looked. "Where 're you're parents? I didn't see them outside. Shouldn't yew uncle or yewr aunt 'ave taken ya 'ere?"

I hesitated a bit as I was seated on the living room's blue-green seats. "My Papa 'ad a Buster Keaton ter scapa flow ter, and me Motha 'ad an appointment she couldn't cuddle and kiss that she'd scheduled a few days ago. Uncle David 'as a couple of problems at the fairground 'e owns 'e needed ter fix so 'e left Liz Hurley, and Aunt Rachel 'as ter take care of Stuart." It felt strange saying my parents' names aloud as well as Stuart's name. I wasn't completely lying about that. Seeing the confusion on the woman's face I re-explained. "There was a meetin' me father an' uncle 'ad ter go ter, me mum 'ad a meetin' she also couldn't miss either, an' me aunt 'as ter take care of Stuart."

"They must be very busy." She said from her seat. "Would ya loike anythin' ter eat or drink? We'll be leavin' in a few minutes."

"No thank ya, Ma'me." I replied with a smile. My dress was irritating my skin with the scratchy tulle under it that was causing it to puff up.

Bran's mother smoothened out her own royal blue pencil skirt as she got up. "Alright then. I'm going upstairs ter get Brandon, and if yew need ter use the loo, walk down the hallway and go to the third door on your right." She then walked to the staircase mumbling incoherent words as she went.

Making sure Mrs. Parker had gone up the stairs, I breathed a sigh of release, before getting up, walking to the bathroom and making sure the freckles I'd made with an eyeliner pencil hadn't smudged. I retouched it before sliding the pencil back into the wide white ribbon around my waist, quickly walking as fast as my gangly body would allow me to in the block heeled shoes, sitting down before Bran and his mother arrived.

Suffice to say the meeting had been interesting.

"You look loike Stuart in drag wif red hair and freckles," Bran said upon seeing me. His mother boxed his ears for that and told him to apologize though I had laughed at the comment. It was definitely something Bran would say. The first time we'd met he said Stuart looked like a girl in boy clothes and made fun of my voice before I punched him in the face. I wasn't any closer to finding out how boys' brains work but somehow I gained his respect from that.

"Me and Stuart get told a hoppin' pot that we butcher's loike each ovver," I replied while laughing.

"Yews even sound aloike," he said, eyes widening so much, his dark irises seemed like pinpoints within the white. I just shrugged.

"Our mums 're Vera Lynn 'n' blisters- I means sisters. They grew up in Cheapside near them bloomin' bells 'n' we ended up ge''in' their accent. A hoppin' pot of people fin' we're twins pens- er- whens they clock us together, but I live in London so we don't clock each over often," I said. I was a much better liar than I thought I ever could be apparently.

BEEP-BEEP BEEEEEEEEEP!

A loud honking had cut the conversation short. Mrs. Parker rushed over to the window, matching blue five-inch heels clacking loudly, and moved aside the small white lace curtain. "It's yer father, Bran," she said not bothering to look away. "We'd betta get goin' or we'll be late. I'll just explain this ter yer father while 'e drives us there. Go get yewr coats."

I glanced at the clock near the front door reading two thirty-five. My mother wouldn't be back until another twenty minutes. She'd probably panic then contact her father. She'd likely wait for him to arrive then try to find out where I went, as they didn't know any of Stuart's friends last names. It was amazing how I'd come up with this. _Maybe I became a mad genius_ , I'd thought

"-smile."

I quickly shook her head, red curls moving in motion as I snapped out of my thoughts. "Wha?"

"Yew twos even got the same smile," Bran said, looking at me strangely, like he could tell I was hiding something. "Stu 'it 'is jaw while 'e was fallin' on the sidewalk and 'e's got a weird smile now loike you." He imitated the strange dopey grin I'd taken on from the aforementioned accident that caused several of my teeth to have been scrapped and chipped, his mouth wide and the sides of his lips reaching up to his ears.

"Weird coincidence I guess," I said, feeling my body becoming rigid.

Bran gave me a strange look that would've continued had his mother not ushered them through the front door. Reaching the car, I tried to squash myself as close to the car door as possible, hoping Bran would think I shy and leave me alone. The boy didn't like bothering soft-spoken people, especially the most girls who were very shy and looked at their flats covered feet whenever they caught his eye. I guess my facial features having very little change along with my speech had something to do with it and he saw Stuart, the boy he joked around with who didn't care if he got in his face, more than he did Stevie, the red-haired, strange girl who was his friend's cousin who just happened to look freakishly like Stuart. Normally I'd be fine if Bran thought I was Stuart and wasn't suspecting anything but right now, I wanted him to believe I was Stevie someone else entirely different I didn't even really know myself.

The drive there hadn't been too awkward. Mr. Parker was fine with "Stevie" instead of Stuart coming with them, saying he hoped Stuart would get better. It was chilly outside so the windows were rolled up, & the heater on, the sounds of honks, cars, and music from another driver being played loudly heard clearly. Once in a while I'd glance out of the corner of my eye to look at Bran, but turn to look out the window when his eyes met mine. Heat would rise to my face as I prayed to whatever gods were in the world that I wouldn't be found out, a sickening lurch in my stomach constant throughout the ride. If a Parker questioned the bright flush against my pale skin I'd say I was just getting very cold and my skin turned red very easily, which was true.

"Alwigh', 'ere we 're," Mr. Parker said as he parked two blocks away from a tall building they'd past with the words "Unlimited Talent for the Performance Arts" in black paint at the front of the white building where no windows were found but the glass doors at the front of the school encased in black metal. I awed at the sight, looking at all the stores surrounding the area. Maybe I'd do some sight seeing if my parents ever forgave me for this stunt. I wasn't sure if it was because I was a kid or if I was just always that optimistic that made me think that.

Reaching the front doors, a blast of warm air hit the group as they went inside the entrance. A sigh of relief left my mouth as I searched the space for where the warm wind was coming from to get closer to it.

"'urry up," Bran called, his voice faint over the sound of the loud heater. I turned my head left and right until I found Bran next to two large black doors, his arm holding one of them open. "The auditorium is 'ere."

I hurried over to the boy expecting him to walk inside and let me hold the door as I followed him. I was surprised he stood next to the door even as I stood beside him waiting for him to enter. Bran raised a questioning brow. "'re ya comin' in or not?"

I can practically her Murdoc grumbling about how even when I was a whelp I was an idiot, but sorry to say it took a moment to realize why Bran was doing what he was.

"Oh! Um, thank ya," I said quickly, feeling awkward as I looked down walking inside the auditorium. "Strange," I heard him say as he entered, my neck and face beginning to flush. Letting him walk in front and following him, I took a moment to gawk at the room, admiring the enormous stage, lit by the large bright lights above, framed by two curtains at the sides and above. The room looked as though it could seat a thousand or so people, looking empty with the crowd of maybe four hundred, and the rows put at a slight slant so that a ramp could be put next to the steps for wheelchair users. Other than that, the room was rather bare.

"Bran, Stevie, were 'ere," Mr. Parker called out to them from one of the center rows, seated in the middle next to Mrs. Parker. We quickly shuffled over to them, politely asking people to move so they could reach their seats. "Do either of ya 'ave ter use the toilet? They're goin' ter start in a few minutes. " We shook our heads.

I scanned the room, this time searching for a clock. Not seeing one, I asked Mr. Potter for the time, finding it was two fifty-seven. My mother surely had to be home now, likely having a panic attack right as they were speaking. I wondered if maybe she would try drowning herself in booze to relax before calling her father. It didn't take long for me to snap out of daze of staring at a blank wall once I felt a sharp sting on the skin on my right forearm.

"OW!" I yelped, causing a few peoples heads to turn and look in our direction, including Bran's parents. I reassured them my skin had just been pricked by something, then quickly turned glare at Bran when they looked away. "Wot?" she said snappily.

"The recital's abaht ter start 'n' you're starin' at a wall loike an idiot," he said with annoyance laced in his voice as if he were the one that was pinched. I roughly kicked him in the shin, earning a yelp in return. His parents looked back at us, questioning looks again on their faces.

"It's nuffin', just a mosquito," he told them. His head quickly snapped to face me, causing me to laugh at how he attempted to look menacing with his narrowed dark eyes and slanted eyebrows. Bran looked as though he was about to say a few things but I quickly put a finger to my own smiling lips in a shushing motion.

"The recital's startin', bettah be quiet," I said teasingly in a singsong voice, the grin rivaling the Cheshire Cat's as the lights dimmed, turning to face the stage. I could feel Bran glowering at her a few more moments before grumbling and shifted in his seat also facing the stage.

A brunette woman in a purple dress and a black jacket walked on stage carrying a microphone in one hand. She taped it as she reached the center of the stage for a sound check before she spoke. "I am Victoria Waters, the director of Unlimited Talent for the Performance 'rts and I am 'appy ter clock awl of those 'oo 'ave come ter clock their family members perform. I 'ave seen these children grow throughout the years and I would loike ter say that these children 'ave grown and or will grow into wonderful young men and women wif exceptional talents. I believe that this will be wahn of our best recitals yet and am 'appy ter begin our first musical recital of the year. First is Erica Foreman, 'oo will be playin Bach's Suite Numba One in G Major." Victoria Waters smiled throughout the short speech, and begin to walk offstage as the crowd applauded.

Two men quickly rushed on stage, one holding a small, black, cushioned seat along with microphone-stand holding a microphone and another holding a large brown cello. A young girl with pin-straight black hair and a long, pretty, red dress walked on stage with a bow in her hand. She nodded her head in acknowledgment to the two men and sat down on the chair as she was handed the neck of the cello. She then adjusted the seat and the stand until it was to her liking. A short moment passed before the string of the bow met the strings of the cello.

Within the multiple performances that had occurred, nothing truly did stick out to me during the recital. Multiple songs had been played with a few mistakes here and there, many off them recognizable. Bran's cousin hadn't been half bad, only getting one or two notes wrong on his own song. It was only a few people like the dark haired girl with a red dress who played her cello, the older brother and younger sister fair-haired jazz duo who played a saxophone and bass, and a glasses wearing young boy with brown hair playing an acoustic guitar that caught my attention. They had all played extremely well, especially the bassist and guitarist who only looked maybe three or four years older then myself. While I wasn't much for playing the bass, anything that could give a very low noise seemed to further aggravate her headaches, the guitar looked rather interesting. Maybe she could try playing that?

They were at the halfway point of the show when a small intermission was called. Stevie stretched her body, giving a sigh of relief at the muscles that now were being relaxed.

"'ow 're ya loikin' the recital so far?" Mr. Parker asked the two. Bran stood up out of his seat and touched the cold floors with his hands as he stretched, his neck snapping up and head titling to the side a slight bit as he told his father how great he thought the performances were.

"I loiked those two blonde kids 'oo were playin' jazz a lot! I t was really different from the over kids. I wanna learn 'ow ter play a sax n' bass loike that!" he said as he got up and began to bounce up and down excitedly as the group walked out of the room to get refreshments. I laughed as he seemed to talk as fast as those chin-wagging birds in school who did nothing but fix their appearances and gossip, all done with that toothy grin of his that showed his dimples that she thought were absolutely adorable. My younger self cut herself off halfway through the last word though. Nope! Stuart didn't think that way about his friends! He saw Bran as decent looking and fun to be around, nothing more. It wasn't that I liked Bran as more than a friend, my younger self really didn't, I simply thought he was cute. But at the time I just kept reminding myself, tomorrow you'll act like none of this ever happened. In the next few days, I'd be Stuart, Stevie's cousin who was sick, missed an exciting day of watching performances, and wonders how his best friend and favorite cousin got along.

"Wot did ya fin' Stevie? Did ya loike it?" Mrs. Potter said, glancing at me just as I had finished shaking away those disturbing thoughts of Bran from my head.

"Oh, uh, I lioked the bloody sax that Roby Roy played, but the bleedin' Beggar Boys Face 'ad given me a bit of a 'eadache. I liked that guitar that Rob Roy wif the minces bins was playin' though! That sounded 'eaven and 'ells Robin Hood."

"In actual English please," Bran said with a deadpanned look. I glared at him, my eyes twitching in anger.

"I thought Stuart explained this Dolly stuff ter ya already?" I said with a bit of attitude to my voice. It took me a moment to recall that I truthfully didn't bother explaining slang to Bran often, many times leaving him confused with my fast talking warbling voice even when I wasn't using slang. Feeling a bit guilty I re-explained in a more pleasant tone what I'd said. It didn't seem to help much as he narrowed his eyes at me still. I never understood why he was so sensitive to the littlest things.

"Do either o ya 'ave ter use the restroom?" Mrs. Parker asked, seeing the restrooms a few feet away from us. Beside the doors was another pair of black doors, a small square window at the top of each.

"Nah, thank you," I replied, the group not noticing that I'd slowed down until I completely stopped, my eyes focused on the doors. Something about them felt odd to me, and I felt a weird tugging in my gut seeming to want me to see what was behind them.

"Wanna go and clock what's in there?"

My heeled shoes clacked against the floors as I jumped and turned to see Bran in front of me wearing a small mischievous smirk I was used to seeing as he glanced at me from the corner of his eye, head also facing the two black doors. I nodded my head and Bran quickly swiveled his own, making sure nobody was watching us before suddenly grabbing my wrist and sprinting for the doors. He held the door open as I ducked my head under his arm, before he quickly and quietly closed the door. A small rush of adrenaline had gone through me in that moment and I very much wished to keep it. Looking down the corridor we had entered, there didn't seem to be much to cause any excitement about. It was just a long white corridor with many closed, most likely locked, doors. Bran continued on though.

"It looks loike this is where they practice," Bran said, walking through the long hallway, once in a while trying to turn the knob on a door to find it locked.

"'ow do ya kna?"

The boy pointed a finger behind me at the doors. Looking back I saw a bright neon yellow paper with the words "practice rooms closed for recital" in bold black print.

"Oh."

We continued walking through the corridors in silent for a few more moments anyways. The space seemed so quiet you could hear a feather drop, and the awkward silence was so thick that it would have taken a chainsaw to hack through it. I sighed in boredom.

"Maybe we should just go-"

"Do ya 'ear that?"

"'ear wot?"

"Just listen 'n' be quiet," Bran hissed as he shushed me.

A moment of silence passed. I was about to tell Bran he must have been hearing things when I suddenly heard it. It sounded like a piano. There was something else being played though. It sounded like a string instrument. It didn't sound at all similar to a guitar and it was much too light and airy to sound even remotely similar to the heavy, low, rattling sound of a bass. Another cello was it maybe? I didn't know nor did I really care about the instruments being played. I was just focusing on that tugging in my gut that seemed to get stronger now that I had heard the music.

"Let's scapa flow clock wot's there!" I said excitedly, practically skipping to where the music seemed to be coming from.

"Wait up," I heard Bran call as he caught up with her.

Reaching a fork in the corridor she quickly took a right turn, telling Bran to hurry up. Their footsteps echoed softly throughout the halls as they followed where the sound was coming from.

"I thin' were close now," Bran said behind me.

"Yeah."

Hearing the sound becoming increasing louder as we got closer to another turn, I slowed to a stop. "I thin' it's this way. We gotta be quiet so they won't stop playin'."

Bran stopped, panting extremely hard as he crouched down, his hands propped on his kneecaps to hold himself up. As he spoke many gasps of air were taken in between words. "Why . . . can't . . . we just . . . go . . . back? The break . . . is goin' ter . . . end and I don't . . . feel loike . . . 'avin' ter give a good . . . excuse abaht why we . . . just disappeared." He slowly began to breathe normally by the end as he stood up straight, now red faced and his chest heaving.

I paused for a moment at that. Bran did have a point. We'd been here for a few moments and Bran's parents were probably waiting for them worrying like her own parents were worrying for her at home. Something inside her was telling her she absolutely couldn't miss this though, like this one thing would change her life forever and I absolutely had to experience this. It scared her as much as it excited her.

I just gave Bran a shrug as she raised her hands in a relaxed "I don't know" fashion. "I daan't kna. It just feel's 'eaven and 'ell important, loike a once in a lifetime thin' I can't cuddle 'n' kiss."

Bran sighed figuring he simply couldn't leave me alone and followed me as I spun on my heel, wobbling a bit because of my newly acquired heels, and walked closer to the room where the sound seemed to be coming from. Suddenly the music stopped and some muffled noises were heard inside.

"Wot's goin' on in there?" Bran asked.

"Daan't kna." Spotting the doorknob next to her, I turned to Bran slowly, as if the people inside could actually hear her breathing. "I'm goin' ter open the Dorothy Lamour a lil' so stay quiet." Bran gave a nod in response as I turned my head back, slowly reaching for the door. The two flinched at the small click the knob gave as it was turned but continued to slowly open the door just enough so that the two could see a slight bit of what was going on inside.

They hadn't at all expected what was going to be heard when they had opened the door.

"VAT DO YOU ZINK YUR DOING YOU IDIOT! Ve on-lee 'ave ten minutes befaire intairmisshe-on and you're steel playing zis song as though you 'ave zat stupid metronome wiv you."

We shared a look of confusion before poking our heads once more through the door. Inside we saw a pretty, blonde haired, grey eyed girl, obviously French by her accent, wearing a beautiful white dress and holding a dark brown violin and bow in her hands. Sitting down at the piano was the poor person she was berating, a boy with black hair and blue highlights that matched his blue eyes, wearing a dark blue suit and a white shirt.

"Could ya lay off already!" he shouted in reply slamming his fist into the keys. "I'm tryin' 'as 'ard as I can 'ere and your yellin' aint 'elpin' at awl ya kna. I'm not used ter doin' this kind of thin'." The boy sighed as he turned to the piano, angrily slamming his hands on a few random sloppily played keys, and then groaned in frustration, folding his arms and laying his head on top.

The girl sighed as well gently putting her instrument on top of the piano and sitting down on whatever space there was left on the seat the boy sat upon. She laid her head upon his shoulder and turned to say something to him.

"Wot're they sayin'," I said anxiously.

"I daan't kna and I daan't care," Bran replied in annoyance. "Let's just leef already." He began tugging on my arm.

I kept a firm grip on the door though Bran's tugging didn't let up. Though I wanted to yell at the boy she tried to remain quiet. "Bran, just a few more-WOAH!" My grip finally gone after an exceptionally hard tug, and how unsteady she was on her heels both of us collided on the floor in a pile of limbs and clothing. "Ow," we groaned as we got off of each other. I opened my eyes to see to pale feet trapped inside white, bejeweled, heeled shoes that were most certainly not my own feet. My eyes traveled upward to a long dress that hid any sign of hips but showed of a nice waist and decent chest, and continued all the way up to a pale slim neck, large gray eyes and golden locks.

"Vat aré you doing? No vone iz supposed to be hair."

"Why 're ya hammer and tack 'ere then?" I replied, finally getting up and brushing off any dirt on her dress. Bran followed suit

The girl blushed in embarrassment as her companion laughed. "She's got ya there, Kat."

"Shut up, Fur-Éyés!"

The boy just rolled his eyes at the girl leaving the two kids a bit confused at his nickname. He looked back at the two kids and got on one knee to be at there level. "Wot 're the two of ya doin' back 'ere though? Shouldn't ya be wif you family? I'm sure they're worryin' abaht ya two."

I was the first to speak, a red hue on my cheeks now rivaling my dyed hair. "We just wanted ter butcher's round and clock wot was behind those doors. We 'eard sum music and I wanted ter clock where it was comin' from cause I wanted ter 'ear it. We're sorry."

"It's non problaim," Kat replied with a small smile. "If you vanted to 'air us play, vy not just vait fair ze intairmisshe-on to end though?"

"That's wot I've been tellin' 'er," Bran cut in, "but she just won't listen."

"Shut it, Bran," I hissed to my friend who seemed to be whining more than usual. "I daan't kna why I didn't wait. It just felt loike if I didn't there was sumthin' I'd cuddle and kiss aahht on that would pope in Rome on the range me porridge knife- er, I mean sumthin' I'd miss out on that could change me life." She quickly translated seeing the looks of confusion on the group's faces.

A moment passed before anyone responded to her answer.

"Ai zink we'vé got énough timé to put on a private pairfairmance. Vhat do you zink, Keiv?"

"I fin' we've got enough time. Come inside and we'll play the song for ya. Ya can keep the door open if ya loike."

We hurried inside, excited to see this private performance. A few chairs were piled on top of each other at the side and we quickly grabbed seats for ourselves, getting as close to the piano as we wished.

"By the way I'm Keith and this Kattel," Keith said as he got out a pair of black glasses and put them on, looking at the sheet music propped up against the stand. "'re ya ready?" We nodded their heads in response., as my fingers drummed against the seat, wishing for them to start already. "Kat?" The girl gave him another nod, an air of confidence surrounding her that seemed to enhance the glow she naturally gave of as she held her violin and bow.

The moment the first key was played by Keith's long slim finger I suddenly saw a world of color. There were so many hues of cool colors that seemed to radiate off of him., rising and falling and twisting, and turning with each note. Blues mostly appeared ranging from pale pastels to deep and rich hues but a few splashes of vibrant greens and purples here and there were seen. Suddenly only a few seconds after, Kattel's own violin sounded. The sound was soft, airy, and sweet but demanded attention from any within hearing range and more. Bright warm tones bounced of her body as if her dress were a diamond reflecting a rainbow of reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows. The colors mixed and collided only growing more and more beautiful as the two musicians seemed to battle it out. The two seemed to be coaxing and teasing each other, as if saying, "I'm the one the spotlight's on, try and see if you can get in it as well."

It was obvious neither of them were at all used to working with a partner. The two were clearly used to being the only ones the audience paid attention two and were battling it out to their full potential, not caring if one or the other was supposed to play an accompaniment to the song, each giving solo performances. They finally found someone whose skill rivaled their own. It didn't matter if the two played completely different instruments that usually did try to complement rather than outdo each other. It seemed that no matter where the two had looked, they simply couldn't find anybody who could pose a challenge until they found each other.

It was all too soon when the music finally faded. I didn't notice how the sound had faded, or how I was still in a daze, or how Bran was shaking me. All I could focus on were the remnants of color that now radiated off these two amazing people I'd just seen perform and the sound of their music still ringing in her ears.

"Vas eet réahllee zat good eet left ha-er dazed?" she heard Kattel happily ask.

"Stevie, Stevie yews be''er be awlwite or else Stuart's gonna kill me!" I heard Bran yell.

"'re ya awlwite," she heard Keith say in an extremely quick and panicky voice.

"Please be awlwite? I'm sorry for whatever we did ter make ya loike this. Please forgive us, please forgive us!"

"It's awlwite, it's awlwite. I'm fine," Stevie said, shaking her head. "That performance was amazin'! I've never pearly queen anythin' loike that!" A large grin covered her face as she looked at the now bashful Keith and over-joyed Kattel.

"Thank you vairy much, uh, sairry vhat are yur names?"

"I'm Stevie, short for Stevania, and this is me cousin Stuart's China plate- er, mate, Bran, short for Brandon."

"Nice ter meet ya," Bran said, blushing a bit as he looked at Kattel. Stevie scowled a bit at the way he looked at the older girl but quickly schooled her face.

"Nice too meet you deux as vell."

Keith gave a small smile as he walked over to the door. "It was nice ter meet ya two and ya were a great audience, but I think' we'd better get ya back ter the lobby and find your parents."

"Oui, as nice as zis was, you're familee eez probablee wairried abut you." Kattel walked over to us and held out both hands to grasp. We did so and walked out with the blond girl. "Just fullow us and tell us vhat your parents look like."

All throughout the walk to the lobby I looked down at the floor thinking about how the two of us had made our families worried about us. I thought about my own parents. My mother was always a bit sentimental, and was much worse when drunk, and my father was always a bit dramatic. They surely had to be worried sick about me. My mother must have been crying her eyes out clutching a bottle of some kind of liquor in one hand and a half empty margarita glass as I usually found her when she was very stressed and wanted to numb her feelings, and my father probably yelling at somebody over the phone to help find her while tears collected in the corners of his brown eyes. The thought of it brought tears to my own eyes, which I quickly blinked away. My nose started to feel hot as I began twitching it. I hadn't noticed my hand slipped out of Kattel's grasp and I'd stopped walking completely.

"'re ya awlwite?"

I made sure to blink a few more times before looking up at the voice talking to me. It was Keith looking at me with concerned eyes and a small frown.

"Yeah, I'm Calvin Klein- er, fine."

He raised an eyebrow at her voice that sounded extremely shake-y. "Are ya sure? Ya looked loike ya did somethin' bad. If it's abaht Bran's parents, I'm sure it'll be fine. If they love 'im enough, they'll forgive 'im for this stunt. They're pro''lly just glad that 'e's awlwite."

"'ow can ya be so sure abaht that?" I snappily inquired. I just didn't like when someone gave false hopes on something.

The boy just smiled and laughed, putting a hand on my bright red locks, mussing them up a bit. I slapped his hand away as I was so used to doing when other people messed up my hair, glaring as I readjusted my hair clip. "Just trust me on this. Even though parents seem loike the ones that'll treat ya the 'arshest, they're more often then not the ones that will be the most lovin' nah matter the problem." I just gave him an unconvinced look as I continued walking, not wanting him to know his words had hit home and I hoped that was the case for my parents.

We made our way to the lobby where we somehow managed to find Bran's parents- as well as my own. Apparently they had shown up just after the we disappeared and started asking for Stevie, somehow managing to put two and two together after seeing the bottle of red hair dye along with my dye stained shirt in the garbage, the bathroom looking as though there was a murder, and finding some of my prettiest clothes and shoes gone. Both parties graciously thanked the two teens, both of who replied that they were happy to help and explained the situation.

"I kna that 'er parents'll pro'lly be mad," Keith said nervously, "but I really thin' that that Stevie should try learnin' an instrument. She looked loike a baby in a candy store when we started playin' our song."

"I'll keep that in mind when I explain this ter 'er parents," my father replied as he glanced coolly at me. "I'm sorry but we 'ave ter leef na. Stevie's father got called back 'cause of sum meetin' 'e 'as ter go back ter London for so we 'ave ter clock 'im go."

"Awlwite, we'd better get backstage before the intermission ends anyways. It was nice meeting ya Stevie, and I 'ope I'll clock ya after the show, Bran. G'bye."

"Oui, we'd bettair leave now. Eet vas vondairful meeteng all of you. Au revoir I suppose." Kattel smiled as she waved at them while walking away. We swiftly said a goodbye to the Parkers and walked in their separate ways. I looked behind my shoulder while walking out the door to see Bran also looking behind his shoulder at me. I quickly turned my head back around though something felt off to me as I could have sworn I saw Bran trying to tell me something before he was pulled inside the auditorium.

The ride home was silent except for the sound of the gas and other cars around us. Not a word was said, and the tension grew thicker with each passing second. I was nervous throughout the whole ride, my palms sweaty as my thoughts ran a million miles a second about the punishment I might receive. I knew I had to be in trouble if my mother hadn't even bothered to hug me upon seeing me, or that my father had barely even looked in my direction. I'd much rather take some yelling and maybe a slap than having to go through this. At least I knew my parents cared enough to discipline me rather than just acting like shells. It seems strange but I just wanted them to respond in some way.

When we'd gotten home, the only thing my mother told me to do was wash up, brush my teeth, and go to bed. I did just that, rewashing my hair until at least some of the dye had washed out, knowing it'd take a few days more worth of washing to get it out. I had the entire weekend to do that though. Even though I wasn't told to do it, I cleaned my bedroom until it was spotless, having only a few mishaps here and there. By the time I was finished, I was mentally and physically tired and slowly limped my way to my light switch, turning off the lights and limping back to my bed where I crawled under the blanket, almost knocking out as soon as my head touched the pillow.

Almost.

A minute or so later my father had arrived. I only knew this because I was facing the wall where his shadow from my doorway was being cast. My breath hitched as he got closer. Tears once more began to swell up in my eyes threatening to fall. My father suddenly sat down next to me, the bed softly creaking under his weight compared to my practically weightless body. A large warm hand suddenly was resting on top of my head gently petting my now dark ruby locks.

"I'm surprised at 'ow nice ya look wif red 'air. Ya got your mum's skin 'nd eyes so it looks good wif that color. Ya look adorable wif them freckles, though I still loike ya betta when yewr not wearing makeup and ya got yewr mum's 'air," my father said, continuing to pet my hair. He was silent for a few more minutes. I almost went to sleep until he started speaking again. "I kna ya fin we're really mad at ya, and we were. We were so mad I could have lifted and thrahn a car and your mum could 'ave torn daahhn a house. We wasn't talkin' cause we was mad though. We wasn't talkin' 'cause we were 'fraid of 'ow you'd react if we started cryin'.

"You've always been a lil' sensitive and I kna you're not goin' ter be loike over kids so we didn't kna 'ow you'd react knowin' we was upset 'cause of somethin' you'd done. Your mom thought you'd pro''lly start ter 'ate yerself if we said anythin'. I just want ya ter kna that we're 'appy that you're safe and healthy. If we could we would keep ya locked up in 'ere so ya wouldn't ever be 'urt again and we wouldn't 'ave ter worry very much abaht ya bein' 'urt. We kna that you're growin' up and goin' ter make a lot of mistakes, big or small. Just kna that we're always wif ya when ya make those mistakes, awlwrite luv?"

I was deathly quiet and my eyes were kept shut though I wanted to hug my parents and tell them how much I loved them while I sobbed into their shoulders. My father gave another sigh, said goodnight, kissed my head, and walked to the doorway. Before he closed the door completely, he poked his head through the door, and I could practically feel the mischievous grin that had to be on his face.

"By the way, daahn't think that you're getting off wifaht a punishment. Nah telly, yewr doing awl your mum's chores but the cookin', and yewr not allowed ter go outside until the end of next week. 'nigh', luv."

The door closed and I giggled - not chuckled, but giggled - , muttering a small, "G'night," before going to sleep.

 **Saucepan Lid(s)-Kid(s)**

 **Scapa Fla/Scapa Flow-Go**

 **Chinese Blind-Mind**

 **Bobby (?)-Sure**

 **Butchers's (?)- Look**

 **Twist and Twirl-Girl**

 **Dorothy Lamour-Door**

 **Clock [general slang]-See**

 **Dicky Bird-Word**

 **Hampstead Heaf-Teeth (Teef)**

 **Bonny Fair-Hair**

 **Uncle Ned-Bed**

 **Barry White-Shite**

 **Jack and Jill-Pill**

 **Mince Pies-Eyes**

 **China Plate-Mate**

 **Robinson and Cleaver-Fever**

 **Buster Keaton-Meeting (Mee'on)**

 **Cuddle and Kiss-Miss**

 **Hopping Pot-A Lot**

 **Vera Lynn-Twin and or Skin**

 **Blisters-Sisters**

 **Chicken Pen-When**

 **Robby Roy-Boy**

 **Beggar Boys Face-Bass**

 **Minces Bins-Glasses**

 **Heaven and Hell-Really**

 **Robin Hood-Good**

 **Dolly-Simple**

 **Ay Yo Trip- Come On**

 **Pope in Rome on the Range-Change**

 **Porridge Knife-Life**

 **Pearly Queen-Seen**

 **Calvin Klien-FIne**

 **Wow that was a long as hell chapter. I'll just update this story whenever I can as often as I can. So this is how it will go from now on. I hope you guys enjoyed this updated chapter. I'll be updating the next chapter tomorrow, but don't expect me to get it done in just two or three days as I'm going back to school and half to figure out my schedules, what teachers I have, and do twenty other things all at the same time. So anyways, until next time, please read and review this as reviews are very much appreciated. Good night, good day, good afternoon, just good whatever time of day you're reading this.**


	4. Chapter 4

**OH GOSH OH GOSH OH GOSH OH GOSH OH GOSH OH GOSH OH GOSH OH GOSH!**

 **I cannot believe how many people have been reading this story. Even though I've only edited three chapters, twice as many people as I originally had have been reading my story now that it's edited. To me, that's unbelievable. I'd especially like to thank the people who've been following the story and I, who've been favoriting the story and I, have been adding it into their lists and all that other stuff. You guys are awesome and thank you for doing this because if I hadn't known how many people did like this story I would not be updating it very often. So I'd like to thank my newest favoriters/followers,** _ **titis98773**_ **,** _ **WhoNeedsNormality**_ **, and** _ **Gorillaz Latin fan**_ **! These guys have actually written some pretty interesting stories so please check them out if you want to. I know they'd probably appreciate it. Sorry for taking so long but the school I go to is keeping me extremely busy. After the very first week of school we had a test. NOT EVEN TWO FREAKING WEEKS AND WE GET A FREAKING TEST! Anyways, let's get to the story.**

 **I do not own Gorillaz or any of their songs. Ownership of Gorillaz belongs to co-creators Damon Albarn and Jamie Christopher Hewlett, Any OC that may reference or be based on other characters from other forms of media belong to me as I am merely using those character as a basis for my own with a twist to them.**

Chapter 4-Girls, Bran, and Stuart Don't Mix Well

As I was growing up I'd always thought Stuart was a bit of a strange fellow. Ironically I'd ended up making Stuart a bit slow to common sense, which could just have been attributed to the multiple headache pills I took as he did receive good grades, and every once in a while you could probably find him staring at a blank wall with a blank look one his face. More than once I had received a few bruises or injuries of some sort because of the antics Stuart's friends got him into. I'd get a few chipped teeth and a bruised jaw from attempting to do a trick on a bicycle that ended in utter failure before I got them from having to deal with Sir Scrubber. Bran was the only one to really bother helping. The other boys were too busy laughing their arses off. Most of the injuries I got as a kid had something to do with Stuart doing something stupid or just being utterly clumsy.

To be honest it was a very tiring act to put up. I often felt like just asking my parents to move to another town, grow out my hair, put on a dress, and just try to live a simple life. Sometimes the bruises I got were so bad I ended up staying with them for weeks on end only to seemingly receive them in the same areas. They often ended up being so tender that it felt like I couldn't rest certain limbs in certain angles for days after the bruising had faded. It was worse when cramps occurred. I still shiver thinking about it.

I think maybe that's why I was always thinking of the bruises I'd receive from Stuart's antics during Stuart's third and most hated period, physical education, or as I nicknamed it, physical hell.

"Stop dozin' off, Pot!" Mr. Smith yelled. I barely had enough time to duck as a red rubber ball whizzed past my head of black hair. The incident with the red hair had happened over six months ago. I was eight when it happened and at this time was nine.

A loud, "BAM!" sounded behind as the ball hit the wall, soft thuds following as it bounced over to me. Even back then I didn't have much arm strength but my limbs let the ball travel far enough that it could possibly land on somebody.

"OW!" I heard some kid say in the direction the ball was thrown. My then blue eyes scanned the room to see who had gotten out. It was one of Stuart's less favorable mates, Andrew Farrier, clutching his gut as he limped over to the benches at the side of the gym. I think if Murdoc and him met, they'd get along quite nicely, ruining my life with their narcissistic stupidity and all that other crap. Andrew caught sight of my staring and gave a sneer as he finally sat down.

I chuckled nervously at the boy whose eyes were still on me as I rolled my eyes behind my closed lids. A sudden pain hit my head before my body fell to the ground.

"POT!" I heard someone, most likely Mr. Smith say as heavy thuds, footsteps, came closer. "Pot 're ya alwigh'?" I tried opening my eyes but all I could see were swimming colors that refused to mix or become shapes. When they did choose to mix, they were nothing but gigantic blobs of color. There was also a small ringing in my ear that was beginning to fade away. "Somebody get the nurse."

"Nah, I'm Calvin Klien," I mumbled out, shaking my head hoping it would clear my vision. "It's alwigh', daan't need the nurse. I'm Robin Hood."

"I thin' 'e's off 'is rocker," someone said.

"Oh, shut it, Bennet," someone else hissed. I think it might have been Bran. My sight was still fuzzy so I couldn't see properly still.

"I'm awlwigh', I daan't need ter clock the nurse," i said again, louder so that the coach could hear.

"Can't be ter sure, boy," Mr. Smith responded. "Wahn of ya take Stuart ter the nurse."

"I'll do it, Mr. Smith!" I heard someone say excitedly. It was a too high pitched for a boy, much like how my own voice, with a strange accent to it I vaguely remembered from somewhere. It was a strange mix of English and Dutch I couldn't put a name on.

"Awlwrigh'," Mr. Smith said, helping me to stand before another person's arms held me up. They were small, although most children at the age I was then were small compared to me, even now it's still the same, with soft thin limbs that easily held me up seeing as how hardly any fat clung to me. I didn't know if it was a girl or a small boy holding me.

My vision cleared up and I saw that it was indeed a girl holding her. She was a pretty little bird with bright auburn hair, hazel eyes, and a faint tan. It looked as though she used to go into the sun often and now her tan was fading.

"Sorry if this feels weird," the girl said looking up at me, eyes bright with excitement. "I'm Jennifer Greene but people call me Jenny. I moved here from Florida a few months ago. I've seen you around here and you just seemed really strange and I had to get the chance to meet you. I already know your name so you don't need to introduce yourself."

I was taken aback by how excited and fast-talking the girl was. "Nah, it's Calvin Klien. Spice ter meet ya Jenny. Ya loike it 'ere so far?" There was a moment of silence followed by a soft, "um" from Jenny before I realized that the girl hadn't understood me at all. "I mean I'm fine and it nice ter meet ya. Sorry abaht that. Me and me mum 'ave this accent, and she's from this part in London wif slang where wahn, two, or three words rhyme wif wahn word. and 're said instead of the real word."

"Oh, I get it now!" Jenny said happily with a grin. "So Calvin Klien is fine and spice is nice?"

"Yeah, ya go' i'!"

"Yay!"

I laughed at the girl's antics. Jenny seemed pretty nice to be with even if she was a little hyper and over-excited. "So, ya loike it 'ere so far, Jen?"

"It's fine I think. I don't like the weather though. It's way too cold for me over here! I was born in the sun and should stay in the sun," she said, tugging my arm as we turned into another hall. " Do you know any cool places to hang out around here? I'm so used to just going to a beach that I have no idea what to do."

I shrugged and thought about what Stuart and his friends usually did after school or on the weekends. "There's a playground a block or bo''le of glue- er, two from 'ere. Me and me friends mostly just climb the tree's there though." That was somewhat like what we did. I wasn't about to tell her that though. "I thin' the nearest beach ya might loike is maybe a couple a 'undred miles from 'ere. There's not a hoppin pot- uh, lot worf seein 'ere. The saucepan lids- kids 'ere mostly just 'ang aahht and I daan't kna wot the older whans do 'round 'ere."

Jenny sighed in despair. "I knew there wasn't anything to do here."

My only response was to chuckle nervously. "Sorry."

"It's alright," Jenny said as they reached the nurse's office. She knocked on the door as I took off my arm that was around the girl's shoulder.

The nurse hadn't made much of a fuss, already used to Stuart's almost constant visits to her office. She just made sure there wasn't anything too serious before giving an icepack to hold on to the bruise on my head before we walked back to the gym in silence. As we turned to the hallway we walked through before Jenny turned to me and said, "Do ya think ya could show me around town? I know absolutely nothing about where to go to for fun around here. I like the beach but I need someplace where I can actually eat food that isn't weird to me and play games or something like that."

I was a bit taken aback. "Wot?"

Jenny rolled her eyes in annoyance as a bit of pink flushed her cheeks. "Could ya show me around after school? Any cool places besides the park I could see?"

"Uh o.k. I guess I'll sha ya 'round 'ere on Friday? It takes me a while ter do me 'omework?"

"How 'bout Saturday and we meet at school by eight."

"At nigh'?" I said while laughing.

Jenny laughed along giving a small playful smirk. "No, in the morning."

My laughing slowly ceased as I saw Jenny look at me with a serious look of excitement. " Ya were serious?"

"Yep," she replied popping the "p". For an effect she wiggled her perfectly trimmed eyebrows before giggling infectiously. I would have followed if I weren't still in momentary shock at actually finding someone my age that actually liked to wake up early. I closed my slightly opened mouth so she wouldn't see my terrible teeth. _Nah need ter prove that wite. Even if it's sorta true._

"Can't we meet at twelve? There's not much ter clock 'ere that I fin' you'd loike."

Jenny raised an eyebrow and scrunched up her nose. "Clock?"

"Er-there's not much ter see 'round 'ere. Sum more Lang- I mean slang."

The girl nodded her head in understanding. "I'm really hyper in the mornings so I want to meet up early. 'sides, I want to hang out with you some more and I want to see all the fun stuff here."

I was once again taken aback by the girl's blunt honesty. "Ya do?"

"Yeah. I was hoping we could be friends."

"Awlwigh', it's a date!" I said jokingly, missing the even brighter blush that appeared on Jenny's cheeks and the way she glanced downward as she replied with a slightly shake-y, "Yeah."

When lunch came about around an hour or so later, I wasn't expecting the sudden bombarding Stuart would receive. It certainly wasn't about the bruises that I received.

"What's goin' on wif ya and the new girl?" Andrew asked as me and Bran sat down.

"Wot?" I replied, clearly confused about the situation.

"'re ya two goin' aahht?" Nicholas Watson said.

"I can't believe you're goin' aahht wif an American!" Alexander Hawkins said excitedly.

"I just can't believe you're getting a girlfriend 'fore any of us!" Andrew said angrily, biting harshly into a green apple to receive a loud "CRUNCH!"

I gave all of them a strange look. "Pen did I get a lemon?" In return I got strange from the rest of them except Bran.

"He asked when did he get a girlfriend," Bran translated. I smiled a bit. I'd been teaching Bran my slang so he'd be less confused when I spoke to him.

"A' weas' we go' a twanswa'or no," Andrew said between chews. My other friends hadn't learnt as quickly, nor were they as interested. He finally swallowed and said, "Don't play stupid Stu-Pot, we na the new girl asked ya aahht. Awl the girls we're talkin' abaht it."

I looked at him in disbelief before looking at the rest of the boys at the table hoping it was all one joke they'd come up with for me. It wasn't.

"I got nah idea wot they're talkin' abaht. Jenny just asked me ter sha 'er 'round Joe Brahn."

Nicholas and Andrew turned to look at Bran who replied, "Town," at their looks. For some reason though when he turned back to eat his food his grip on his fork tightened and he harshly stabbed the greasy string beans on his plate.

Nick turned back to me. "Oooh! Ya call 'er "Jenny"." He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis though he had just acted like one of the silly girls that were always gossiping.

"Yeah," I replied, not seeing much of a big deal about it.

"Well," Bran continued, "if "Jenny" just wanted ter 'ave someone sha 'er 'round town, why didn't she just ask wahn of the girls?" His words sounded forced, as if he were speaking trough his teeth. I didn't know if this were true because his face was turned away.

I opened my mouth to say something but found I couldn't. I pouted my lips in frustration before biting them and scratching the top of my head with a dirty fingernail. I then shrugged my shoulders as the boys proceeded to make bets on whether or not we'd kiss. I looked around the lunchroom trying to look at the girls whose faces I could at least see a quarter of. I finally found Jenny surrounded by a large crowd of girls, bright eyed and grinning madly, talking animatedly as her head turned to-and-fro to talk to the girls crowding her. Jenny seemed to have caught her staring as the girly uncharacteristically shyly smiled and gave an equally shy wave. I thought it odd but gave a wave in return.

One of the girls around Jenny noticed who she was looking at and turned to the other girls, whispering something and pointing in my direction. As I turned around a series of squeals, shushing, and giggling was heard. I ignored it and took a bite out of my grilled cheese. As usual the bread was terribly bland and the cheese was barely warm, forget being melted in the slightest bit. I sighed and continued my "meal". I turned to see Bran harshly biting into an apple and chomping noisily, not looking at me at all.

After lunch Bran and I had grammar. All of the students were placed in groups of fours, and Bran was an entire group away from me. I was struggling with an activity the teacher had told the group-members to do separately when I noticed a note was flicked over to Stuart's desk. Glancing around I saw Bran mouth to me to read his note. I opened it, making sure the teacher wasn't looking, and began reading it's contents. The white paper was covered in words written in red ink from what looked like a marker.

 **Why does Jenny want you to take her around town?**

At this I raised an eyebrow. _Didn't I just tell him this during lunch?_ Either way I decided to write back, using a dark blue marker and making sure to make my penmanship as unlike my actual penmanship as possible. Just because I was young doesn't mean I was stupid. Don't bother making any damn comments Murdoc or I will get Noodle to castrate you!

 **I told you I don't know. She just asked me, ok.**

I quickly passed it back to Bran looking out for the teacher. A minute or two later I got the note passed back to me again.

 **Alright.**

That answer should have been enough for me. It wasn't though. There was a nagging in the back of my mind; "the girl in me" I used to call it. It was always the part of me that wanted to know everything and caused people to be irate with me rather quickly. What it led to was one of those situations.

 **Why are you asking?**

I tossed it back to the table behind me, barely even searching for the teacher, nor bothering herself with why I even bothered checking as the man teaching was so old he needed a hearing aid and thick Coke bottle glasses. My response was quick and I didn't waste a second opening the crumpled paper.

 **I don't know she just doesn't seem like your type.**

 _My type?_ Stevie thought as she wrote her response. _What would he even know what "my type" would be like?_ **Well what do you think is my type? Is she your type?** Their writing continued on nonstop.

 **I don't know. I guess. Why?**

 **Are you jealous or something?**

 **WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN JEALOUS? WHY WOULD I BE JEALOUS OF SOME MORON LIKE YOU?**

 **WHAT ARE YOU GETTING SO BITCHY ABOUT?**

 **THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT MORON? WHY WOULD I LIKE SOME DUMB AMERICAN ANYWAY?**

 **ARSEHOLE.**

 **BERK.**

 **MINGER.**

In a sudden flurry of adrenaline and anger I wrote words I still feel terrible about saying even today.

 **WHY DON'T YOU SAY YOUR JUST JEALOUS OF ME BECAUSE I'M ALWAYS THE ONE WHO GETS THE GIRLS AND YOU'RE THE LONELY NANCY BOY WHO PRETENDS HE'S STRAIGHT.** I nearly threw the paper ball I was so angry.

That was the last form of communication Bran and I had until the end of the day. Not one word was spoken between us until then.

After the final bell had sounded, Bran walked out of the door, I hot on his trail. It seemed he was starting to calm down but after catching sight of Jenny surrounded by a bunch of giggling girls he walked even faster to get out of school. His shoulders were squared and taut, just like what he always did when he was mad. He was probably seething at that moment.

"Bran," I called out. "Bran I'm sorry," I said angrily once more, walking as fast as I could to catch up to the smaller brunette. "Would ya calm daahn already? Ya know I didn't mean anythin'. I was angry and I said sum dumb things. Would ya sla daahn and listen ter already? Bran! Bran!"

Even though Bran was shorter than me, he had a tendency to start practically running if he was mad and didn't want to face his problems. So for the next few moments that followed before Bran and I were just a few feet away from the school, the pattern of me shouting at him to listen to me as he stormed out continued.

When I finally reached Bran, the two of us were half a block away from the school. As I took another step closer to Bran I tried to call out to him again to get his attention. My foot stepped on a thin patch of ice though, and I slipped back as I said his name. Without warning a fist came towards my face. A burst of pain exploded across my cheek. My left eye felt as though it would pop out of its socket. A sharp stinging pain was felt on the side of my nose. It was nothing like the pain I felt spread my chest though.

"JUST LEEF ME ALONE YOU IDIOT!" Bran screeched. From my one good eye I saw tears stream down his now puffy red cheeks. Even as he yelled his lips quivered. "WHY DAAN'T YA JUST GO DIE IN WHATEVER HOLE YA CAME OUT OF! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YEWR DUMB FACE AGAIN!" His voice cracked at the end. Swallowing another sob, he looked down at me, my bum still on the icy patch of ground, a hand holding my injured face. I certainly was a sore sight to see.

I don't know what happened but in the next moment I completely blacked out. Another moment later, I saw Bran on the ground, his hand cradling the side of his head dangerously close to his eye. He sat on the ground muffling his cry of pain with his gloved hand. I didn't know what to do. I just stood there like an idiot for a few seconds. Finally deciding to help Bran though, I reached out to him. He slapped away my hand, kicked my shin, resulting in me falling on the ground as well. Bran then got up, shouted at me he never wanted to see me again, and ran off in the opposite direction.

The next few minutes were left with me sitting on the floor staring at my hand. I barely even felt the pain on my face anymore. I'm sure it hurt like hell but I was too focused on my hand. I didn't know what happened. I was afraid of knowing what happened. My mind was already connecting the dots though.

I felt numb as I started walking home, my feet shuffling against the ground. First I felt despair. Then I'd been angry. After a few more moments of sitting on the cold pavement I just felt numb, like I hadn't the energy to do anything anymore.

By the time I got home at the snails pace I was going at, the sky had darkened, and the sun had set. There wasn't a moon and there were too many lampposts in the area to see the stars. There was no one to yell at me about being late or fuss about me being so cold. The house was empty, as it usually was when my parents had to work overtime. I'd set up my own routine for these occasions though: take a bath, make a sandwich, eat, finish homework, watch some telly, play my melodica, which I had gotten much better at, and fiddle with the Casio VL-1 my father had given me on my ninth birthday. If it weren't so cold and I had someone to play with I would have gone outside. Even if it was boring at times I liked my schedule; it made me feel like I had something I was completely in control of as if it were a simple equation of getting to be Stuart for x amount of time equaled being Stevie for y amount of; it was much easier then trying to be Stevie at school when I thought I was alone. It happened so few times and the moments were so sparse she wanted to scream her lungs out. I'd give anything to simply have to worry about acting one way for a certain amount of time and another way for a different amount of time.

I quickly went to the bathroom and soaked in the tub for a good hour or so, thinking about what had just occurred between Bran and I. Even if Bran and I made some nasty comments to each other we would say them jokingly or to show we were irritated. We had never said such hurtful things to each other to this extent. I was just really angry with him. He was making nasty comments at what seemed like a perfectly nice girl I wouldn't mind being friends with and when I came to her defense, he suddenly snapped at me. How was I supposed to respond? I was a kid. I didn't know what to do. So that was the day I simply decided to take whatever was thrown at me. If arguing with someone I cared for resulted in this, what was the point? I'd still much rather be a slight bit emotional after letting my friend verbally abuse me to let off some steam rather than have this feeling continue. What would happen if Bran decided never to talk to me again?

The thought was so scary Stevie froze for an entire ten minutes in the tub at that thought. My thoughts suddenly went to what I thought might have happened. I focused on Stuart. Stuart would be the reason for why I'd lose my best friend. Stuart was what kept me from doing what I wished at times. Stuart was the one who hit Bran.

I continued to stay in the bathtub scared out my mind from that thought. Stuart was supposed to be a part of me, a character for me to pretend to be and act as when I pleased. That's what I created Stuart for. I admitted that Stuart had brought some difficulties but I could endure them. The thought of Stuart becoming more than just the character I'd created on a whim was ridiculous. I sunk my head lower into the lukewarm water that had bright pink bubbles floating above it, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes as my head fully submerged itself.

My day continued by following the rest of my routine, all while wearing a fluffy white towel over my now chin length hair, which I would get repeatedly every few months. I did everything my schedule had prepared. My homework had been fairly easy to do leaving her with much spare time before her parents arrived. I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what to do with my mother's make up to cover the fat bruise on my cheek before giving up. Even when I was younger my skin was so pale if a bruise appeared it looked like bright purple and blue paint on a canvas.

"Guess wot I got from wahn of the nurses at Kathy Burke for us!" my mother said as she walked in, tossing off her white nurses cap with a red cross, and letting a large white bag hit the kitchen table with a loud "PLUNK!" She had yet to see the bruise.

"Wot?" I replied walking over to her, taking my mother's thick coat off the back of the chair and on top of the coat hanger.

"JELLIED EEL-WOT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED TO YEWR FACE!" MY father said, his bright smile immediately melting off as he saw the large bruise. He grabbed my chin to get a better look.

"Dad, could ya calm dahn," I said. I wasn't in the mood for dealing with this. "I daan't wanna -"

"Stevania," my mother said, slowly taking of my father's hand, grabbing my own, and gently touching the area around the bruise. She only said my real name in serious situations and only held my hands when she was worried for me. "Wot 'appened?"

Many people - such as Murdoch- may call me a crybaby or a wuss. I won't bother taking offence to it. At times it is true. However, it is not a run-of-the-mill occasion when I cry as hard as I did that night. I explained what happened with my mother for the next hour, blowing my nose and wiping my tears every five minutes or so, and having my place her hand over my heart and tell me to relax and breathe. I told her about everything except when I blacked out. I was afraid of what would happen if I did.

In the next hour or so, I was fast asleep, my belly warm and filled with jellied eels and hot chocolate milk. My cheek was slathered in ointment making me sleep on right side which I was uncomfortable with.

The next day, my parents talked with Bran's parents and explained what happened.

On Friday Jenny and I went out. I took her to the arcade and showed her where the best places to eat and what to eat. We had fun, we laughed, and it made me feel a bit better. I at least wasn't feeling empty but my heart felt numb.

The next week I opened my door to find Bran outside, his mother waiting for him patiently a few feet away to make sure he said he was sorry. His eye was black, blue, and violet from the bottom of his eyebrow to the top of his cheek and he glared at me as he said his apology as sweetly as he could with a bitter smile. I knew he didn't mean what he said but accepted the empty words.

The following week we hadn't looked at each other and Bran made it a point to avoid one another when were close.

Almost a month went by before I realized why Bran had gotten angry; he had a crush on Jenny and thought she asked me out on a date. I might have been book smart but I wasn't the brightest when it came to street smarts.

On Monday I went up to Bran and told apologized for not understanding his feelings. I asked him what I could do to prove how sorry I was after I saw he didn't believe what I was saying.

A few hours later I found myself standing on a table in the middle of the cafeteria during lunch time and shouting, "Sorry ter awl the birds in 'ere, but I'm a nancy!" As I was pulled down surrounded by students laughing at me I looked at Bran. He too was laughing but upon noticing me, he gave me a thumb's up and a toothy grin he would only give to me. I smiled idiotically in return.

 **Calvin Klein- Fine**

 **Robin Hood-Good**

 **Sugar and Spice-Nice**

 **Bottle of Glue-Two**

 **Hopping Pot-Lot**

 **Saucepan Lids-Kids**

 **Matesong Lang-Slang**

 **Chicken Pen-When**

 **Lemon (?)-Girlfriend**

 **Joe Brahn-Town (Tawn)**

 **In the Bloody Buff-Enough**

 **Heaven and Hell-Well**

 **Berk-Stupid**

 **Minger-Ugly**

 **Arsehole-A**hole**

 **Nancy/ Nancy Boy- Gay**

I **am soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo very sorry about not being able to update for over a month. My new school keeps me extremely busy with around three to six tests each week so I hope you guys understand why it's taken me so long to find the time to write this. My last chapter was only three pages longer than this chapter. Anyways I hope you enjoyed this chapter because I don't know why but I actually had a nice time trying to write this chapter. Sorry if the interactions do seem a bit strange but this is vaguely like how I remember any emotional or physical attraction related topic between two kids to have occurred in my elementary school. I live in an interesting neighborhood, all right? It was just very awkward for all of us in my school at that time. For all of you who are going to start wondering if Stevie develops another personality, which is Stuart, no it will not be happening. If any of you have ever heard of what it's like for a professional impersonator to have to impersonate someone, you will understand what I'm going for here. Stevie developed Stuart as a character. All people have different ways of doing things that someone must learn if they are going to be an impersonator. Stevie created a different mannerism for Stuart that she just finds frustrating at times to keep and other times she does it so naturally she'll slip into an unconscious state of mind where she goes through motions she knows Stuart would do. Now that that explanation is out of the way, hopefully I will see you guys in a few weeks so stay tumed to see what happens in the next edited chapter. So until next time, please read and review.**


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